[ OPEN ] Tonight I'm gonna have myself a real good time

[ombranera]

WHO: Zevran and YOU
WHAT: Zevran's Birthday and Ardent Blossom Contest
WHEN: Forward dated to Guardian 5
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Shenanigans connected to this announcement

Someone had been a sneaky little shit, preying on Zevran's lack of familiarity with traditions and dates and the weight people tend to put on something so mundane as a 'birthday'. Someone (Alistair) had spread word and made a thing of it, despite Zevran not seeing the point nor truly wishing to cause a fuss. He had, however, decided to take a day for himself to do nothing. No fuss, no stress, no real work. A day to indulge in a few of his many hobbies. He did not know what one did on their birthday normally but here he was, sitting in the Courtyard with one of his found spoils on his head, awaiting those that paid mind to his earlier announcement. When he wasn't idly sketching whoever he saw in the courtyard he was in the Herald's rest, enjoying a quiet drink and making notes on the better stories or songs he has heard throughout the day.

Comments

[nadasharillen]

Nahariel is quiet on the approach, but easily noticed. She's carrying what looks like an egg shape of a lightly polished golden-brown wood, her set of carving tools buckled to her belt.

"I've a story for you, if you like."

[ombranera]

"Ah, Morena." He smiles, setting aside his notes and sketches for the moment to offer her his full attention. "I would like to hear it. Please, sit."

[samahl]

Cyril appears after reading the announcement and looks far too amused by how Zevran looks with flowers on his head. "My, what a dashing sight," he says. "Is that what's at stake for the contest?"

[ombranera]

"It is indeed." Zevran flicks to a fresh page of his sketchbook, roughing out the angle of Cyril's jaw as hie approaches. Smile lazy and warm- he's even foregone the usual leathers and most of his knives for the day in favor of a loose, red silken shirt in the billowing style of Antiva, a tightly fitted black brocade vest, his softest, darkest leather trousers and his finest leather boots. Dressed as though he were home rather than in Skyhold- all he needs is the half cape. "I have four to give as prizes."

[el_tybs]

"Well someone looks like they're dressed to 'kill'." Sam raises his brows as he approaches, smiling a bit crookedly as he tilts his head to take in Zevran's outfit and the flowers haloed on his head. "I take it that is one of the circlets you were speaking about in your message?" he asks, motioning a circle around his head to refer to the flower crown.

He's curious about it, but that isn't why he comes looking for Zevran. Rather it's the small basket covered with some cloth that brings him to the courtyard for the assassin.

[ombranera]

"The one I am keeping for myself, yes. I've four more to give out." A fifth held in reserve for Alistair, of course, but that went without saying. The rest are to be distributed at his whim. But that does not seem to by why Sam is here, unless the basket has props for his talent. "I think they are rather fetching."

[unbrokenoath]

Kaisa doesn't know Zevran as much as she knows of him, but the other Wardens who did know were fond of him, and Alistair clearly liked him enough to arrange this whole birthday blast for him. And, of course, he had helped defeat the Archdemon and the Blight--As far as Kaisa was concerned, he was a friend of the Warden Order in general.

Which meant that she was happy enough to slink on over and flop down bonelessly next to him.

"Hey, how has that announcement been going so far? I thought about it, but then I was like, what am I good at? I'm good at a lot of things, but none of them are really fit for showing off in the middle of Skyhold, you know?" She stopped her chatter to raise an eyebrow at him, a smirk tugging at her lips, as she waits a beat, before continuing. "I don't think they'd like me bringing an ogre here." That is the only thing she was talking about, of course. Pay no mind to that smirk.

"Anyway, aside from that--" She dug into a pouch on her belt. Bethany had been in charge of arranging the Official Warden Present, but that didn't mean that Kaisa couldn't sweeten the pot a little. She fished out coiled up piece of fabric, and pulled it out, stretching it so Zevran could see. It was a long blue ribbon, with an embroidery of grape vines twisting around it. "--I thought this would look pretty, with your hair. And the person I got it from said it was Antivan, but they were Orlesian, so, you never know."

She paused, frowning. "That wasn't really a sterling recommendation for it. But it's pretty, you're pretty, I thought it'd work out. It'll match what Bethany got you."

[ombranera]

This was someone new. Zevran blinked at her approach, attempting to place her for this level of familiarity spoke of either knowing him or bedding him at least once before- but he cannot recall her face, nor her voice, nor the shape of her hands and those are things he recalled ever and always of those that he took to his bed, or at least wished to take to his bed.

Without a name to put to the face or a memory to put to the voice, he simply let her speak.

Let her flirt- or at least attempt to flirt.

He was fairly certain it was an attempt to flirt. Someone truly needed to speak to the Wardens on how it was they do so- with the infertility and resistance to disease? one would think they'd take better advantage of it and learn to be charming. Not that she wasn't. He leaned back in his chair, head tipped to the side, smirk curling at his lips. "The stitching does seem familiar to me, yes."

Grapevines were a familiar motif, he traced the embroidery with a light fond hand. "And what, dare I ask, has Bethany chosen to get me?"

[foxsays]

A crown of flowers isn't Araceli's style but a friend is a friend, and Zevran a better friend than most, so she'd be looking for him anyway, not bothering to wrap her gift because wrapping a bottle is a stupid exercise in the first place, isn't it?

Footsteps near-silent, she takes a seat beside him to enjoy being outdoors without having to wrap herself up in as many layers as she did in Emprise du Lion, face tipped up for a moment before she hands over the bottle.

"I can't do what we would usually do on a birthday in Castileos except give a gift," she explains, handing the bottle over with a smile. It's good rum, flavoured with fruits and spices after she got into something of a haggling war with the merchant. "This bit is about as traditional as I can get here."

[ombranera]

As she comes up alongside she'll notice the careful lines sketched into the journal in his lap- Alistair with a practice sword, laughing, Korrin perched on the ramparts, Keiran half formed in slow swipes of charcoal and careful lines as he plays with a warden figurine. Little things he has not taken the time to put to paper so he would not forget.

He is just beginning the first few feathers in a Crow's wing when she settles at his side- and rather than look up or shift to accommodate he leans into her easily while continuing the careful, delicate lines on paper. "I do wonder, what is it one does on their birthday in Castileos?"

The pen is set down in favor of the bottle- his smile going wide and warm. He knows the brand, it is as familiar to him as his own heart- and hard to find this far south.

[arlathvhen]

Beleth has some experience in dealing with birthdays outside of the clan, thanks to Sam. But she's pretty sure that Zevran wouldn't like dog cookies, and she's pretty sure that it's not really special enough for everything that Zevran had done. In fact, she has spent a great deal of time since Alistair let her in on his whisper campaign trying to decide just what to get for him. He was always helping her, teaching her, taking care of her, and she had little to offer him in return.

Maybe when she gets better. But for now? Presents will have to show him how much she appreciated his efforts for her.

She approaches him in the courtyard, with a small box, the fruits of her own efforts for him. "Hey, Zevran...! Has anyone won any of the flower crowns yet?" They were pretty, certainly, but not pretty enough for her to risk embarrassing herself. She can just make her own flower crowns, anyway. But she's certainly willing to watch, and she seats herself next to Zevran, and holds out the little box to him, tied with what looked like long blades of grass woven into a ribbon.

"I have two presents for you--This is the first one. Um, happy birthday, Zevran. May you be granted many more." And inside the box is a necklace that is also woven--but this is make of thin cords of silk and leather, various hues of golds, browns, and oranges in a complex weave. Dotted along the length are little baubles, beads and stones that match the colors of necklace. The main feature of the necklace, however, is the pendant that hangs down. If Zevran is observant enough, he can probably tell it's a piece of antler. The whiteness of it points towards what animal had once had the antler--an actual halla. The piece has had a rough attempt at carving made to have it bare the shape of a wing--Apparently the shape was as much skill as Beleth could manage, because she had taken ink and carefully drawn the feathers of the wing onto it.

"...Sorrel's been sending me some stuff, to remind me of home. Um--That piece is part of it. I know you're not Dalish, but, um. I thought it'd be nice, still..." That had been her ultimate decision. To demonstrate his value to her by giving him something else she valued. A piece of home, of her people.

[ombranera]

"A few contenders have come by, yes. I mean to hand them out at the end of the day in private rather than announce it. Less chance of wounding pride, that way." For this is all in good fun and he has no desire for anyone to feel as though they are less than exceptional.

Even those that aren't skilled at something are at least pretty. Which is, in and of itself, a skill.

In his lap he has journal open, softly smudged lines making the shapes of several faces- people he has seen today some from memory. Currently? All elven. Pel, Skinner, Merrill, Zathrian, one in the lower left with more detail lovingly laid in around the curl of her lash and cut of her smile. He sets his charcoal aside to accept the box, dusting his fingers off on a scrap of fabric darkened from the day's use. "What is this, mm?"

Gifts. Another one- someone else Alistair has whispered to but by now? He simply chuckles softly under his breath as he unknots the ribbon and peers inside. Something made, simply made, out of silk and leather. It reminds him a good deal of his belt tucked under his leather boots back in his room; nonsensical to anyone but those that understood the sentiment. The halla's antler- as he has seen enough to know it when he sees it, softens his eyes considerably. Without a word he pulls the necklace from the box and slips it on, adjusting the length until the white of the wing shown brightly against the tanned and inked V of his skin one could see through the open collar of his shirt. "I attempted to live among the Dalish in my youth- have I told you that? One of the Antivan Clans. Before I was ever a member of the crows, I ran when I heard they came close. They did not take me in but- they didn't kill me for my curiosity either. Without anywhere for me to stay the night before they escorted me back to the gate I slept among the halla."

[disgracedchampion]

And of course Michel was a very prompt man in addition to being a man of his word, when he said he would find Zevran he was responsible in adhering to it. Though at first it had been a little more complicated than it should have been, if not for the tattoos he would have gone completely unrecognized by the Chevalier who was looking for him dressed in a certain way...not in such finery with his hair arranged in quite that way. Zevran was beautiful anyway, but this was a sort of beauty that transcended the sexes.

Michel was almost too surprised by the transformation to move his feet and he forgot entirely that he'd come bearing his own gifts in a basket that hung lamely at his side. He was quick to get over such ridiculousness, however, and moved towards the assassin in the courtyard, "I suspect the auditions for your flowering crowns are going smoothly?"

Ice breakers were always the best place to start.

[ombranera]

Gone are the usual tunic and leathers, or even the light shirt and vest he used most days during training- the silk of his shirt was as deep as blood, shimmering with subtle embroidery in the same shade of red threaded along the sleeves and collar, the vest a rich brocade in black and trimmed in gold thread fitted tight to his trim torso. Open at the throat his collar showed a woven necklace Beleth had given him, the bright white of the wing a stark contrast to the tan of his skin. It complimented the pale blossoms on his head as much as the leather matched the sleek lines of his finest, thinnest leather trousers.

Antivan made, clinging to every muscle, leaving precious little to the imagination without being obscene in the slightest. Zevran himself was turning a carving around in his fingers. A warm, wooden kestrel, a small enigmatic smile on his face that only brightened and widened at Michel's approach. "Soleil."

And for a moment there was no game, no manipulation, no trick. Simply Zevran who was simply pleased to have the company of someone he enjoyed. "Come, sit. They are going along quite well."

[dreadinquisitor]

The part of the announcement that Maxwell had noted, was that it told him exactly where Zevran was going to be. As one of those who had heard of the significance of the day, he had procured a small gift and was looking forward to giving it to the birthday boy.

(Partly because he considered Zevran a friend and giving gifts was fun, ...and partly because knowing something harmlessly personal about the mysterious assassin, and having him know it, was as well.)

"It suits you," he said as he approached, gesturing to the circlet with a grin. "It really sets your eyes."

[ombranera]

"You think so?" Zevran tilted his head to the side in a blatant exaggeration of his usual posturing, meant to catch the light and the eye- with his hair bound up? It revealed a longer slash of his throat and the few curls of tattoos that wound their way down to his collar. "I do find they go with just about everything, including my leathers."

Going into battle armed with flowers, however- that is Alistair's trick, not his.

[arcaneadvisor]

A birthday is not something she can claim she celebrated much herself. Flemeth marked the day in her own way, not the way others did with celebrations because there was no point. You have survived another year, Flemeth so often seemed to say and did when she grew older, ungrateful as ever. Wipe that look off your face.. Her gifts had never been gifts, they’d always been something needed, not that a gift wasn’t always needed but they had never been like the gifts the Warden had given her, gifts just because, things he saw and thought she might like, things that simply made him think of her. Morrigan’s birthdays had been a marker, that was all, and so she could sympathise.

Only there was Kieran and though making a fuss was not her way, there was always something she hoped he would like, a day where they did whatever he wanted to do, where he had no lessons, and no one had designs on Morrigan’s time. A day just for them and always a late night. There’s one soul that knows her birthday too because children notice these things, and it’s another day that’s just the two of them, some small childish thing kept safe, hoarded like treasure.

She’s smiling when she finds Zevran, carrying something small and wrapped in a scrap of dark cloth, a delicate wave pattern through the fabric, tied off with a ribbon darker still. Too neat for a child but this is what mothers are for, is it not?

"I shan’t ask how old you are when I think I know the answer." Old enough and too old, isn’t that how it goes? "Kieran is off with his friends, but he asked that I bring this to you. He’s very proud of it and you've been good to him."

It’s very Chasind, not Zevran’s style but there are things you pass down and her son has an eye for it. Not unlike Morrigan’s robes and the stones and feathers holding the front together; a crow, long glossy feathers for the wing and tail, shining green and blue in the light, and dark stones gathered from places she can’t recall, bound tight together, a long jagged one for the beak, a good sturdy pin lashed to the back. A strange brooch, even strange for a Chasind she would think but Kieran likes things with wings, it’s why he loves the griffin sewn to the front of so many of his clothes.

[ombranera]

"He is a wonderful boy." Is the easy answer, the kind answer. Once foreverago he had considered making an offer to Morrigan should he find her with a child she may or may not truly desire. Should the child be less or more than they'd thought- one cut quickly done. Now...Now he cannot imagine doing such a thing. The boy has dreams. The boy is strange. But Kieran smiles as a boy smiles, learns as a boy learns and calls him 'uncle' with all the fondness and adoration only a familiar and friendly child can offer. He is no dangerous crow or hero, simply himself.

Zevran supposes that makes it the true answer as well. That Kieran is wonderful and he is fond.

Sentiment.

He shoves the voice back to the darkest corners of his mind, accepting the gift with a smile. Untying it to see the shape of a bird (so many feathers in his gifts) and upon closer inspection? A crow. A crow unlike any he's ever seen and for that alone he pins it without hesitation to the side of his vest, above his heart. "It is lovely work- he is right to be proud."

[byblow]

Alistair sees Zevran a few times throughout the day and grins at him from a distance—maybe a little smug and smirky, especially if he's being given gifts or fawned over at the time—but otherwise he leaves him alone with his various admirers and entertainers. Friends. Ha.

But that evening he lays claim to the bedroom early, before Zevran And His Various Admirers And Entertainers can get any bright ideas about socking the door, and waits up with covered dinner plates kept warm by the brazier for as long as it takes. Not even the quiet can dampen his mood. He distracts himself from the song in his head by sitting on the floor and baby-talking to Doghren, mostly, but at the first sound of someone unlocking the door, he stops and tries very hard to look manly and disinterested in the puppy.

"Goooood evening," he says, showily. There's dinner, there's the fact that the room is cleaner than usual, there's the fact that Doghren smells decent, and there's something in Alistair's pocket. That's all he's got. But he looks pleased with himself anyway.

[ombranera]

So many little things, lovely things, and by the time dinner has come about and a few quiet plans made for later in the evening among those who wish to show more intimate appreciation for his person on so special a day, Zevran winds back to his room. He works the lock with one hand as the other is busy with a basket containing that which he could not carry himself and finds that it is not in fact locked.

Alistair is here.

He'd seen him lurking about- well- as much as he lurks, smug and smirking and infinitely pleased with himself with the progression of the day. Rolling his eyes Zevran pushed it open, careful not to let Doghren out, and sets his basket on the bed. "What is this now, mmm? Come to gloat on the merit of celebrating today after all?"

[noleechesneeded]

Simon didn't plan on any elaborate song and dance to win a crown for himself, though he was curious enough to see one. And it did provide a convenient excuse to see Zevran in regards to certain rumors he'd heard about this particular day. The healer made the time to put his work aside for an hour or so, tucking a modest package into a bag and heading for the courtyard. It wasn't an unusual sight, the mage often made trips to the quartermaster or the gardens for supplies, but this time he veered off after spotting the elf working over some parchment in the courtyard.

"Hm, no...no I don't imagine I'd be able to wear one of those nearly as well," Simon observed aloud as he got close enough. Every time they met Zevran proved to be an incorrigible flirt. It was 'casual', and though Simon had made it clear he was absolutely awful at 'casual', the mage had slowly begun to try. Flirting, that was. Nothing more than that. Did a birthday gift count as more? No, probably not...hopefully not.

[ombranera]

Sketching loosely, for the most part. People he's met, people he missed, people he lost. All woven in and out and around faces that came by the courtyard either to manage their own business or those that came for him in particular. Lounging with indolent grace, dressed in finer things than he normally would bother with for today was to be a day of indulgence, yes? More than the crown and his hair pinned away he wore a shirt as red as blood, open at the collar to show the tanned skin of his chest; a black brocade vest fitted tightly in a contrast to the loose sleeves of the shirt, and dark Antivan leather trousers as thin and clinging as a second skin.

At Simon's approach he set aside his charcoal and waved him close- there was room on the bench next to him after all. "I do not know, Bello, I think you might manage terribly well.

[the_effect_she_has]

"Good afternoon, Zevran. And ... many happy returns."

Katniss called out, as she came across the courtyard, holding something behind her back. She gave him a quiet smile as she approached, properly cleaned and with her dark hair loose from around her shoulders. She put the basket in front of him, silk wrapped around something that smelled of leather, before she stood up straight.

"For the matter of the wreath -- well, I know it's not original of me, but I have a song for you."

[ombranera]

Zevran looked up from where he was idly shading in a sketch of Kieran, all dark eyes and bright smiles with the unfortunate shared nose that the boy is slowly growing into. Upon spotting Katniss he smiled, flipping his journal closed. Today he was dressed differently- in his finer things. Silk and leather from Antiva to make him feel a touch more at home while so very far away. One of his indulgences for the day. "Katniss- what a lovely surprise."

He was still pleasantly caught off guard by the gifts. The songs less so. "What manner of song?"

[sunshinethroughgrey]

"You must be Zevran." Bethany stated with a smile, as she wandered down from the Great Hall, holding two wrapped bundles, one smaller and one larger. She gave him a warm, dimpled smile, before she dipped down into a little curtsey.

"I'm Bethany Hawke, here to represent your friends, the Grey Wardens." She stated, with a little bit of humor for all the formality. "We all got together and went in on getting you something, as you've been such a good friend to Alistair."

[ombranera]

"I am he, yes. And you must be Bethany." One of the other Wardens let slip there was a surprise involved; or at least one on the way. He would say that he was surprised to see a faintly familiar face; though the name gave the game away. Sister to Hawke, and his smile took a bittersweet twinge. "He has been a good friend to me. I hope a similar fuss is made on his behalf."

[aggregiopavali]

Fenris wasn't here for the spoils. Him in a flower crown? No, that wasn't going to happen. However, wishing a friend happy birthday, and maybe giving him a birthday present all of his own? That Fenris could certainly manage.

He'd found a decent bottle of Tevinter wine for the occasion, and tracked down Zevran in the courtyard, sitting with his spoils. "A fetching look," he pointed out with a smirk before sitting down next to him.

[ombranera]

Be it fortune or excellent timing- or perhaps both, Fenris found Zevran as he was finishing the fine graceful sweep of an elf's leg on paper. Closer inspection would prove it to be Fenris himself lounging with a glass of wine in his hand, relaxed and almost playful. Of course having his attention on the actual Fenris was much more rewarding and thus Zevran set the sketch aside. "I am pleased to hear it; so many stares throughout the day and I was uncertain if it was that I was wearing flowers or that I looked so fetching while wearing them."

That was a lie, he knew they were staring because he was pretty. Because he was pretty, dressed well in clothing of Antivan make, all red silk and darkly tanned leather.

[chainlightning]

While Merrill would look very fetching in a flower crown, she doesn't have the faintest idea that Zevran is giving them out. She does, however, have a pup (a littermate to Doghren, even) padding along with her, occasionally wandering off to bark at snowflakes or demand ear rubs from the guards. More importantly, she has cookies that she managed to get from the cook (through sheer power of Merrill, most likely), and those are what she deposits in Zevran's lap before sitting next to him.

"Happy birthday! Careful, Barkley may try and eat some."

[ombranera]

"...you named your dog Barkley. That. That is almost as awful as Barkspawn." Much as he missed the beast, the name had been singularly terrible. It would have been better if Jonas simply named it 'dog'. And yet here he was, mid stroke on a sketch of The Lady of The Forest- what he could recall of her. Dark eyes, long hair, roots entwined about her form. He set his pen and journal aside before the cookies are quite deposited.

Sweet and crumbly- the sort Sten loved. "Thank you, Merrill."

[easternseaqueen]

"You know, I heard something I think you'd be interested in," Isabela says when she shows.

"Mostly that it's your birthday, and a certain mutual friend of ours from Ferelden would love to help me help you celebrate. Thoughts?"

[ombranera]

"Mmm, that depends. How are we celebrating?" With Isabela? It has to be something interesting and a little dirty. His favorite sort of celebration.

[kallian_endris]

The shy little healer approaches eventually. Blossoms would certainly look quite fetching on the young blossom.

"Are you still accepting stories, messere?" she asks softly. "I... I am not the bard my mother is, but I remember her tales well... Do you have favorites of your own?"

[ombranera]

"Most that I know I tell each night, I would love to hear something new." Anything that he did not have to tell is more than enough for him. "I am accepting all manner of entries until midnight, wherein I shall make my choice and deliver the crowns to their rightful owners."

[lettersfromhome]

She heard the announcement, certainly, but competition wasn't what she'd had in mind. In fact she'd had little interest in the affair until word had gotten to regarding the significance of the date.

Well. She didn't know everyone's birthday. Those she did, she might as well do something for. Even the strangely persistent elf who was too good-looking and not half as charming as he thought.

So here's Mia, arriving in the courtyard with a basket under her arm. "Good afternoon, Zevran." See this? This is the face of someone not up to anything at all.

[ombranera]

"Ah, Mia." He grinned openly to see her, finishing the line he'd been sketching at her approach. The face he'd finished would be familiar enough, Cullen in profile. Not quite so stern or solemn as he was as of late. It was a fair enough likeness, though he'd lost patience with the fur at his collar, the detailed lines reduced to faint smudges and rough shadows. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He had not missed one of their games, had he?